“Ah, seems we are hunting for the same man?”
That voice.
Jaw feathering, I spun toward that recognizable timbre, and those godsforsaken near-white irises greeted me. His lapis hair was spun back into a low bun, a few loose strands framing the sides of his face. That irrefutable scar, carving through his right cheek, sat raised against his dark beard, its lighter hue clashing with the olive of his skin.
“Malrik Ravelle,” I crooned, craning my head to the side as my palm settled on the hilt of my weapon. “To which god do I owe my displeasure?”
He huffed with a lack of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk-infused snarl. “I suppose I could ask you the same, though I harbor the capability of inference unlikesome. Considering I spotted Alastair Seridean’s ship docked at port, I am presuming Caspian may have lost his hold on the woman, whom he had no rights to in the first place.”
“The woman you assaulted not only physically, but emotionally and sexually?” Peeling my sword from its scabbard, I chuckled. “Ironic to lay claim to someone you notably don’t give a fuck about.”
Jaw feathering, annoyance laced his features. “What I do withmyproperty is none of your business. Besides, isn’t it quite out of character for Caspian and you to harbor a soft spot for a woman neither of you truly knows?”
“Caspian Vayne and I are not unfamiliar with the concept of humandecency,” I prompted, spinning the scabbard in my hand with practiced ease. “Something you’re entirely unable to wrap your mind around.”
Head tipping back, he released a manic laugh. “Human decency in a world as corrupt as our own will get you nowhere, and that fact alone is what will prove to be the downfall of both you and your captain, Syoran Kao.” Freeing his saber, he pointed its sharpened tip in my direction. “Since Caspian has failed to teach you of the darkness polluting our world, allow me to.”
Without wasting a beat, he lunged forward, and I caught his blade. Steel rang against steel, slicing through the air just as we wished to carve through each other’s flesh. I felt the impact travel from my smallsword up my wrist before seeping into my forearm and biting into the bone. I was not unfamiliar with his strength, but his swordsmanship with a longer blade surprised me.
Stepping in, I kept our connection tight, holding the curve of his saber. That was the advantage of shorter steel, closing the distance and suffocating the arc. As we battled for the upper hand, I solidified my hold as he smiled at me over the rim of our locked weapons.
“Too close,” he murmured.
Through a snarl, I allowed my reply to follow. “Not close enough.”
Twisting my wrist, I allowed the momentum to send my blade down his, sparks spitting between us. With an attempt to bind his saber and shove it off line, my shoulder drove forward as my smallsword darted for his ribs.
He quickly pivoted, the saber’s guard slamming into my knuckles with enough force that it numbed my fingers. I barely kept hold of the hilt as he disengaged and cut low, aiming for my thighs. Jumping back, my boots skidded over the cobblestone as his blade whispered past my legs, close enough that I felt the wind of his nearly successful attack.
With a huff of amusement, he circled, and I followed suit. “Seems Vayne may know a thing or two about training his men.”
“Caspian taught me nearly everything I know,” I spat, keeping my smallsword tight to my centerline, point aimed at his throat. “Just as he enlightened me that you aren’t all you let on.”
Where he had reach, I had speed, and that created a balance—at least temporarily.
He turned his saber with taunting, egotistical arcs in the air, the sun glinting from its steel. Testing to see if his flawed confidence would prove beneficial, I parried inside and stepped hard to my right, forcing his saber wide. My blade snapped toward his face, and he jerked back, but not fast enough. Smile curving my lips, I watched a trail of crimson bloom along his unscarred cheek—a blow landed.
Lifting his left hand, he touched where I’d cut him. His tongue trailed across his lips as he brought his two fingers back to look at the lineage I’d evoked. “Good,” he crooned softly. “I was hoping you weren’t all talk.”
His saber suddenly moved as if it were alive, guided by some unseen force. It no longer carried the wild slashes of a brute, but precise cuts that required me to react instead of act. High right, low left, feint to the shoulder, a real strike to the hip. I caught them all—barely—and my arm burned from the repeated shocks of each collision of our weapons.
I ducked under a horizontal slash and surged forward, driving my shoulder into his chest. We collided without a second breath, the smell of leather, sweat, and iron flooding my senses. With the space between us no longer serving his benefit, I punched my blade toward his abdomen.
And just like that, he trapped my wrist. Gloved hand clamping down, tendons strained, the crushing force preventing me from moving further in or pulling back. Twisting the hilt in his other hand, he angled the blade down toward my exposed side.
“You rely on proximity,” he breathed, seemingly unfazed by our clash. “It’s predictable.”
Growling, I drove my knee toward his thigh, and he shifted, taking the impact on the muscled portion of his leg. With one yank, I wrenched my wrist free and shoved him off me, steel screaming as our blades scraped against one another. In the progression of retreat, his tip grazed my ribs, just a kiss, but heat flared instantly.
Fuck, too slow.
He pressed in with the advantage before I could fully reset. A flurry of three cuts followed, and I parried high, then low, but the third slipped through my guard and sliced across my bicep, tearing through linen and breaking flesh with ease. White-hot pain burst from the carving, and my grip faltered.
The flash in his irises was enough to indicate that he saw it; ofcourse,he fucking saw it.
His eyes sharpened, a newfound malice consuming his stare. He swung wider, forcing me back with the reach of his saber, and I had no choice but to retreat. Step by step, my boots glided across the cobblestones beneath them, vibrant scarlet slipping from my skin to paint the ground with my ancestry.
Head tilting with observation, he smirked. “You’re tired.”
